Plant Your Own Garden, Decorate Your Own Soul
by pie1
Summary: Ch 1-3, re-written and re-posted, Ch 4-6 re-posted b/c of format problems, CHAPTER 7 UP. COMPLETE!
1. The Seedbox

Plant Your Own Garden, Decorate Your Own Soul 

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine – they are the property of Bad Robot, Touchstone, ABC, JJ et al

Rating: PG-13 for some mild language

Feedback: Need it like I need water, my running shoes, Alias and fine wine… Please read/review ~ constructive criticism is always welcome!

Author's Note1: Post-Cipher. Assume Sydney has escaped from her icy predicament in Siberia (she is the star of the show after all!). 

AN2: Chapters 4-7 all were beta-d by the most fantastic Agent Blakeney. (Thanks for your support!)

**Chapter One: The Seed Box**

**Sydney POV**

I look at the key in my hand and take a deep breath. Placing it in the lock, I remind myself not to just blow by Francie as I usually do. On the plane, I promised myself that I would smile and have a real conversation with my friend – something that I have not done in weeks.

As I push open the door, I hear Francie call, "Syd, is that you?"

"Hi! It's me. Just dragging my jet-lagged self home again!"

I drop my suitcase and purse in the entryway and walk over to Fran to give her a hug. 

"How are the restaurant preparations going?" I ask.

Instead of answering, Francie takes a deep look at me – one of those 'I am your best friend, I have known you forever and you cannot hide anything from me' looks. I can tell she wants to ask me something, but she simply returns my hug and says, "You look exhausted."

I smile and shrug off her concern by explaining what two 12-hour flights and one extremely long meeting will do to a girl's energy level.

"Yeah, I understand – the glamorous life of international finance!" Francie replies, grabbing her purse from the kitchen table. "Anyway, I have to run some errands – you go take a shower and a nap and I will update you on the restaurant when I get back."

The sound of the door closing jars me back into action.  I drag my suitcase to my room and plop down on my bed. Here I am, alone again. Usually, I dislike talking to anyone when I get back from a mission, but today I really feel like having some company and a conversation that doesn't involve SD-6, the CIA or Irina Derevko. Normalcy is what I crave, and Francie, my one 'normal' friend, has just bailed. I can't call Vaughn or Will – they would just insist on discussing all the things I do not want to talk about. 

Oh well… First things first – a hot shower, a nap and then, hopefully, some time with Francie.

I step out of my clothes and walk to the bathroom. Within 30 seconds, scalding hot water is pouring from the showerhead – thank god for the water pressure in this apartment. As the heat of the shower envelops me and the hot water massages my sore muscles, I let my mind wander… I have felt so disconnected lately. I no longer have control over my life – events are spinning out of control and it seems like my world has been turned upside down. I must be crazy, but some days I really want to go back to the time when my mother was dead and I thought SD-6 could be taken down in a matter of a few weeks. Life was simpler then – I had hope for the future, and now, now I just do not know…The Rambaldi mystery, the Irina enigma, Will, Vaughn, my dad – everything is so complicated. I crave the day when my life – hell, one corner of my life – is normal and full of beauty.

I turn off the water, wrap myself in a towel and walk back to my room with thoughts of normalcy tugging at the back of my mind… As I begin changing into sweats, something catches my eye – Emily's seed box.   

I grab the box and sit on my bed to examine it. It is beautiful – a true Arts and Crafts heirloom piece. I had not given the box much thought when Sloane gave it to me - I had been too focused on making the bastard squirm.  Now, as I run my fingers along the woodwork, I am surprised by the intricacy of the simple design.  Inside, there are seeds filling several compartments along with assorted 'how to' notes from Emily.

I smile to myself thinking of Emily and her love of the earth. She always told me that when she worked in her garden, her troubles would fade away.  Perhaps, I could apply this same lesson to my life by taking Emily's gift and putting it to use.  Everything else around me might remain crazy and out of control, but I could plant a garden, and, hopefully, salvage a bit of my life for myself.

I place the seed box back on my desk and fall into bed – relaxed and settled for the first time since Taipei. As I close my eyes, my thoughts fill with images of beautiful flowers, rich soil and the perfume of happiness. I remember a poem Francie made me memorize once during a bout of depression in college:

After a while you learn

the subtle difference between

holding a hand and chaining a soul

and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning

and company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn

that kisses aren't contracts and

presents aren't promises

and you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes ahead

with the grace of a woman

not the grief of a child

and you learn

to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow's ground is

too uncertain for plans

and futures have a way

of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn

that even the sunshine burns if you get too much

so you plant your own garden

and decorate your own soul

instead of waiting

for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure

that you really are strong

and you really do have worth

and you learn and you learn

with every goodbye you learn. 

"I will plant my garden and decorate my soul", I repeat to myself.  

Within moments, I am fast asleep with only pleasant thoughts to occupy my dreams.

~ End of Part One ~

AN: Poem at the end is "After A While" by Veronica A. Shoffstall.


	2. Planting My Garden

Plant Your Own Garden, Decorate Your Own Soul 

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine – they are the property of Bad Robot, Touchstone, ABC, JJ et al

Rating: PG-13 for some mild language

Feedback: Need it like I need water, my running shoes, Alias and fine wine… Please read/review ~ constructive criticism is always welcome!

Author's Note1: Post-Cipher. Assume Sydney has escaped from her icy predicament in Siberia (she is the star of the show after all!). 

AN2: Chapters 4-7 all were beta-d by the most fantastic Agent Blakeney. (Thanks for your support!) Chapter Two – Planting my Garden 

**Sydney POV**

The past few days have flown by.  Between meetings at SD-6, catching up on schoolwork and helping Francie get the restaurant together, I have barely found enough time to get my new 'project' off the ground.  Luckily, I have been able to fit in daily trips to Home Depot and the local nursery, filling up the back of my truck with potting soil, tools and different planting containers. 

At some point during the week, I realized I know next to nothing about gardening, so I also stocked up on different variations of the "Idiot's Guides"… Idiot's Guide to Gardening, Idiot's Guide to Roses, Idiot's Guide for Double-Agents Getting a Life… Well, not the last one, but I looked for it – it doesn't exist.

Today, I find myself free of any commitments. Sloane gave me the day off, telling me that I deserved a long weekend to rest and recover from my last mission.  Will is on restaurant duty, and all my assignments for school can be pushed off until the weekend.  Given this rare free day, I decide to get started on planting my garden.

A few hours later, I am sitting on my porch surrounded by soil (in the bag, on the ground, in my hair), spilled seeds, dirty tools and a few beautiful plant containers in different states of, well, being planted, when I am interrupted by the incessant ringing of the phone.  

I reach over for the cordless phone and answer, hoping that it is just Francie or Will.

"Hello"

"Joey's Pizza"

I shake my head in disbelief – not right now! Snapping out of it, I reply "Wrong number" and hang up quickly.

Regretting the fact I even picked up the phone (I should have known better), I quickly try to finish my planting and clean up the mess I have made. Looking at my watch again, I realize 30 minutes have passed and now I am late.

I arrive at the warehouse 40 minutes later, out of breath and hoping Vaughn isn't too pissed.  As I walk in and push the gate open, Vaughn turns to look at me, and then just starts to laugh.

"What? What's so funny?" I sputter, while thinking to myself, "Damn he looks good when he laughs."

"Sydney," he finally manages to say, "ummm – have you looked at yourself today?"

I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I do a quick mental check of what I look like: Hair in braids; dirt on face, clothes, hands – well, dirt everywhere; no makeup; sunburned cheeks and arms; vintage Guns 'n Roses t-shirt, cut-offs and an old pair of Vans sneakers. 

Groaning inwardly, I make a note to never run out of the house without first looking in the mirror. I glance over at Vaughn and realize he still has a goofy grin on his face. Oh well…if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and I start laughing also.

"Shit Vaughn, I am sorry. I was working on my latest project and, well, I just got carried away. I guess I should have cleaned up. Anyway, why did you call?"

He gives me one of his drop-dead smiles – I really wish I were on the receiving end of more of those – and opens up one of the folders on the table.

"You and I, my dirt-loving friend, are off to Santiago, Chile tonight.  We have just received intel that indicates Sark is going after another Rambaldi artifact."

He then hands me some photos: one of a man; another of a large fortress-looking house; and, a final one of a box. 

"This is General Jose Ferdinand. He is publicly retired from the Chilean Army but has a very private arms business that continues to keep him occupied. Our mission is simple – break into his compound and grab the Rambaldi box before Sark does."

I look up at Vaughn and ask, "Why me? Can't another CIA agent go with you?" Seeing the hurt look that flashes across his face, I quickly try to explain, "Listen, I am just worried about Dixon's trust, and I don't know if he will easily accept another 'vacation' excuse."

Vaughn begins to pace like he is apt to do when delivering bad news. I hate waiting for bad news, but before the words "spit it out already" come falling out of my mouth, I look up and realize that he is in front of me, ready to, well, spit it out.  

"Syd, I don't know if you are going to like this," he whispers softly as his eyes roam over the warehouse, avoiding mine. "Lets just say that our General friend has a thing for young French beauties.  You will be a new acquisition – Sophie LeClair, a very expensive Parisian call girl."

"OK," I say calmly. "What about SD-6?"

Vaughn does a double-take, my acquiescence must have shocked him. He is well aware that whore roles are not my favorite gig, but contrary to form, I think I will just go along with the plan tonight, no arguments.

He looks at me again and says with a big smile, "Who are you, and what did you do with Sydney Bristow?"

Giggling, I reply, "Shut up Vaughn and give me the plan."

"OK. Call Sloane and let him know that you need the weekend off. Francie's restaurant opening should give you a decent excuse. We should have you back by Sunday night so you can return to SD-6 by Monday for work."

He hands me another folder. "Here are your tickets and identity papers.  I will dead drop the rest of the mission details while we are on the flight."

"OK. Sounds like a plan then," I reply. Recalling my appearance, I smile again and add, "I am thinking I need to run so I can grab a shower and pack before getting on the plane.  I will see you at the airport."

With one last embarrassed smile, I turn to leave.

"Sydney?" Vaughn calls from behind me.

I turn to look over my shoulder. "Yes?"

"You will tell me what this project of yours is, won't you? Sometime?"

I take a deep breath and turn to face him again. He is giving me that smile again – damn. 

"Sure Vaughn. Sometime I will tell you all about it, but for now, it's… well, lets just say, it's Top Secret."

With one last grin, I turn and continue to walk out of the warehouse. Time to take a shower and to do all the things I normally would detest: lie to my friends; weave another fable for Sloane; and prepare to put on my Parisian-slut-of-the-year act.  Funny thing though, I am not really angry about it – I feel happier right now than I have in a long time. 

Stepping out of the warehouse, I look up at the sky and say, "Thanks Emily."

~End of Part Two~

  



	3. Surise Over the Andes

Plant Your Own Garden, Decorate Your Own Soul 

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine – they are the property of Bad Robot, Touchstone, ABC, JJ et al

Rating: PG-13 for some mild language

Feedback: Need it like I need water, my running shoes, Alias and fine wine… Please read/review ~ constructive criticism is always welcome!

Author's Note1: Post-Cipher. Assume Sydney has escaped from her icy predicament in Siberia (she is the star of the show after all!). 

AN2: Chapters 4-7 all were beta-d by the most fantastic Agent Blakeney. (Thanks for your support!)

Chapter Three – A Sunrise Over the Andes 

**Sydney POV**

The cabin around me is pitch black and full of sleeping passengers. There are a few insomniacs like me – they are either working quietly on their laptops or just staring straight ahead, begging for some sort of rest before the day begins anew in Santiago. 

I can't really place the precise moment my insomnia began. In my first years of flying around the globe for SD-6, I could sleep anywhere. Hell, until six months ago, sleep was my best friend, but somewhere along the way, it became my enemy – something to be fought violently each and every night.

It began around the time I found out the truth about my mother and became worse as the events of the past months unfolded. My once peaceful slumber turned into a hateful place full of death, destruction and hate. I began to wake with horrible images burned into my thoughts – images that would haunt me during my waking hours and shake me to my core.  I shudder thinking about them: Vaughn drowning. Will missing. Emily dying. Blood everywhere. Mom! Dad!  

Sleep became the equivalent of a horrific death, and I began to fight it with all my might. Only the shear force of exhaustion would compel my eyes to shut, and then I would sleep fitfully, scared of what horrors lay waiting for me in my subconscious.

Then in the last week something changed. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I fell asleep in peace. I didn't even dream – I just fell gently into a black void and woke every morning with a smile on my face. 

"What happened tonight then?" I muse.  My eyes had shut before the plane even left the tarmac, but then as quickly as I fell asleep, the images were back. I woke up abruptly an hour into the flight, breathing hard with tears in my eyes and a heavy heart. I then proceeded to spend the last six hours reading my book and fighting to keep my eyes open.  Looking down at my watch, I realize that we only have two more hours until we arrive in Santiago, and I still do not know the details of our mission. 

**Vaughn POV**

I hate the violent temperature swings on planes. One minute you are burning up, the next minute your toes are icicles.  I have spent the seven hours since we left LAX trying to get comfortable – blanket on and off; pillow in different positions; fleece pullover as a jacket (when cold); fleece jacket as a pillow (when warm).  In those seven hours, I have slept approximately 21 minutes. Seriously - I counted. I have also completed the two crossword puzzles in the inflight magazine, reorganized my Fantasy Hockey Team in my mind and gone over the plan for tomorrow something like a thousand times.

Sydney is sitting a couple rows ahead of me, and at the high point of my boredom, I had myself convinced that I could go talk to her.  We were supposed to be strangers, but certainly strangers talk to each other during the middle of the night on flights to Santiago, right?  Protocol ended up winning out over my desire, and I remained in my seat.

Looking down at my watch, I realize we have two more hours until we land, and I need to figure out a way to dead drop the mission details to Sydney without anyone noticing.

**Sydney POV**

I stand up and stretch broadly, pushing my hands up to the sky and casually throwing my head back. Taking a quick look around the plane, I realize that most everyone is still asleep. Time to find Vaughn and get the rest of the information on the mission.

I begin to walk to the back of the plane and there he is - only two rows behind me. He is looking down at a folder on his lap. He must really be concentrating because his forehead is creased and he is biting his lip.  It doesn't look like he is going to look up anytime soon, so I guess I will have to get his attention in a less subtle way.

I walk to his seat, bend over and whisper playfully in his ear, "Monsieur, care to watch the sunrise with me?" Without waiting for a response, I continue my walk to the rear of the plane.

**Vaughn POV**

I am deep in thought when I feel someone bend toward me.  

"Monsieur, care to watch the sunrise with me?" she breathes into my ear and then walks away.

I quickly turn around and see Sydney heading toward the back of the plane. 

"Well, that is one way to make contact," I think to myself.

I wait a few minutes – 75 seconds to be precise – and move to follow her. She is standing at one of the windows at the back of the plane staring off into the black nothingness.

For a minute, I just stand next to her, saying nothing. We are simply two strangers stretching their legs towards the end of a long flight. __

I look at her and ask the most generically specific question I can think of. "Were you able to sleep at all?" 

Sydney turns and smiles at me. "No, not really. But that is really nothing new."

Her nightmares. She has told me about them. Sleep has always been a respite for me – I cannot imagine having to fight the impulse to close your eyes each and every night. 

"How horrible," I say.

"Well, it's not fun but it's certainly not life threatening. I actually think I might have found a temporary cure."

"That is good," I reply in a neutral tone, wanting to ask more, but afraid to, knowing that on this flight we are two strangers and personal questions might arouse suspicions. 

Sydney obviously feels more comfortable with the situation because she continues explaining. "It turns out that all I needed was a gift from an old friend. My friend was a gardener, and her gift inspired me to begin planting a small garden of my own. I don't know what it was specifically, but once I decided to plant this garden, my insomnia went away."

It all made sense to me now: the project she mentioned in the warehouse; the interesting choice of attire; and, the dirt. The dirt definitely made sense. I feel my heart tighten as I think of Sydney fighting her desperation by planting a garden. 

All of a sudden I hear her take a deep breath and say softly, "This is what I love about this flight – a sunrise over the mountains, viewed from 30,000 feet."

Sure enough, the once black void outside the window is now alight with the first rays of the sun. We stand together in silence as the sun quickly begins to rise from behind the Andes. It is an amazing sight.  Unfortunately, I also observe the increasing signs of movement around the plane – we need to end this conversation soon. 

I lean into Sydney. Pressing my body next to hers, I touch her hand briefly and pass the envelope I had been carrying. 

"The sunrise is amazing," I finally reply.

Then I turn to her and do something that went against every part of my training.

"You're amazing," I whisper softly into her ear.

She turns to me, smiling broadly, and says, "It was nice to meet you – I hope you enjoy Santiago and that your travels are successful."

As she walks away, I can feel the touch of her fingers along the back of my neck.  Breathing deeply, I walk back to my seat, determined to focus on the day ahead. We have a mission to complete.

**Sydney POV**

I return to my seat and close my eyes. I can feel my heart racing and the blood rushing to my head. 

He told me I am amazing…

I order myself to breathe regularly and to focus on the day ahead. We have a mission to complete.  I open the envelope and begin planning for Santiago.

~ End of Part Three ~


	4. Mission Prep

Plant Your Own Garden, Decorate Your Own Soul 

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine – they are the property of Bad Robot, Touchstone, ABC, JJ et al

Rating: PG-13 for some mild language

Feedback: Need it like I need water, my running shoes, Alias and fine wine… Please read/review ~ constructive criticism is always welcome!

Author's Note1: Post-Cipher. Assume Sydney has escaped from her icy predicament in Siberia (she is the star of the show after all!). 

AN2: Chapters 4-7 all were beta-d by the most fantastic Agent Blakeney. (Thanks for your support!)

**Chapter Four – Mission Prep**

**Sydney POV **

I sit ensconced in the backseat of a taxi on my way into downtown Santiago, high on the adrenaline that is buzzing through my system. I cannot get Vaughn's words out of my head. 

"You are amazing."

Vaughn has told me this before when I have been ready to throw it all away – ready to run far from this crazy, fucked-up, life I lead. But this was different.  It was deeper, sweeter – more real than before.  

Regardless, I had spent the last 10 minutes trying to push these thoughts out of my mind.

In my more sane moments, I repress my feelings for him knowing that the power of what I feel would easily overwhelm us both. I even have a mantra that I repeat, hoping to convince myself of its truth. 

"Michael Vaughn is my CIA handler. CIA handlers and their agents do not fall for each other. It is expressly forbidden, and it is dangerous. It could get us both killed. Vaughn could end up like Danny."

"Vaughn could end up like Danny." 

This was always part of my nightmares – one of the images burned into my mind.  Walking into a bathroom, finding a body riddled with gunshot wounds. It is not Danny, though – it is Michael. This image is the one that keeps me awake at night.

I live my life on the precipice. One false move and it is all over. This is why I repress the feelings I have for Vaughn. I know he feels the same way – I am sure of it.  But if we were to act on these feelings, I fear - no, I know - we would fall over the edge, and I cannot deal with that reality. 

But then, he tells me I am amazing. And with those few words, my carefully constructed reality comes crashing down. I begin to think that stepping over the edge would not be a bad idea…

"Focus Sydney. Time to get into mission-mode. You can think about Vaughn later," I tell myself. 

I look out the window and notice we are driving through the outskirts of Santiago. I open up the note that Vaughn passed me earlier to review the details of the mission one final time.

_… taxi take you to the Hyatt in Las Condes. There will be a room reserved for you…car for you at noon …outfit and jewelry in closet…earrings commlink…brooch a safe-cracker…_

I take one more deep breath, shake off all vestiges of sentimental thought and work to get to a place where I can lie, steal and kill without thinking twice.

_***********_

11:50

Our intel says that General Ferdinand likes his "girlfriends" to look sophisticated and polished – no two cent whores for our favorite Chilean arms dealer. I look in the mirror and a stranger looks back.  She has dark hair done away from her face in a twist.  Her features are highlighted with the barest bit of makeup with a dark red shade of lipstick drawing all the attention to her lips. She is dressed immaculately in a Chanel suit accessorized by a gold Cartier tank watch, diamond bracelet, earrings, and brooch. The three-inch stiletto heels are the only item that might give away her 'occupation.' The woman looking back at me is the quintessential thousand-dollar French whore.

11:52

Time to check in one final time with the comm team. I touch a small button on the back of one of my earrings and say, "Tower, this is Maverick. Can you hear me?"

"Maverick. This is Tower. Looks like we are good to go. We are wired into Ferdinand's security system and will be watching from the truck.  See you at the extraction point. And good luck."

His voice stays with me as I pack up my things and get ready for business. 

11:55

I take one last look around. Everything is packed back neatly in my suitcase – someone from the CIA will come by and pick it up for me. I take a deep breath, and go through my pre-mission ritual.  Closing my eyes, I remember: Danny; Emily; Will's battered face; Vaughn's dead father; the numerous other victims of the terror SD-6 and its brethren agencies have wrought.   For once, I welcome the images of death and destruction as they come to life in my mind's eye. They give me reason to do what I am going to do – they keep me focused on the goal.

I am there – ready to lie, steal and kill. I am standing at the edge of the precipice, playing my dangerous game and hoping not to fall over the edge.

11:59

I take one last look in the mirror; grab my purse and head out the door.

***********

12:30

I can feel the car slow down and turn into a gravel driveway.  The windows in the car are tinted such that I cannot see anything outside.  Luckily, I memorized a map of the area around Ferdinand's house while in the hotel room this morning, so I do not feel completely disoriented.

The car quickly comes to a stop and I can hear the driver's door open. The gravel crunches as the driver walks back to my door to open it, and then all of a sudden, I am blinded by the glare of the noontime sun.

"Muchas Gracias, Senor," I say as the driver helps me out of the backseat. His hand holds onto mine for a second longer than is appropriate and I can feel his eyes rove over my body. Oh well, the perils of playing this character.  

As he guides me to the front door, I try to absorb everything. Windows – first floor and second, none barred. Jumping from the second floor would be nasty – only rosebushes to break the fall. I need to see the driveway, so I pretend to stumble in the gravel. It gives me enough time to confirm what the CIA had told me: the house is set back 100 yards from 10-foot high concrete walls. There are two driveway entrances, both with guards on duty. 

And we are at the door. It is 12:32 – we are ahead of schedule. According to Vaughn, I have until 1pm to grab the box. After that time, he cannot guarantee they will be able to monitor the security feed without being detected. 

"Bienvenido a Santiago, Senorita LeClair."  General Ferdinand has been waiting.

"General. Mucho gusto conocerle," I say in my most flirtatious Spanish, and then I kiss him on each cheek, as any Parisian would.

He signals for me to follow him down the hall. As we walk, I start my mental inventory. Marble foyer with stairs to the second story.  Bathroom. Reading room. Music room. Living room.

We stop at the living room. The General takes my hand and sits me down on one of the chairs.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks. 

"That would be wonderful," I reply. "But only if you will have a drink with me." I give him my most coquettish smile.

As he pours us two cocktails, I sit back, pretending to relax. I think back to Vaughn's note.

_…go to the bathroom and contact me. I will confirm the location of the box and guards…_

"General, excuse me. Do you mind if I use the bathroom for a moment? I just need to freshen up." I give him another one of those smiles and then stand up to go contact Vaughn.

As I turn, I notice another presence entering the room.

"Dear General Ferdinand. While you are pouring drinks for you and your friend, why don't you make me one also. I think we may be here awhile."

I would recognize that voice anywhere. Sark. Damn.

~End of Part Four~

AN: Translations… "Bienvenido" = Welcome; "Mucho Gusto Conocerle" = Nice to meet you_._


	5. Realizations

Plant Your Own Garden, Decorate Your Own Soul 

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine – they are the property of Bad Robot, Touchstone, ABC, JJ et al

Rating: PG-13 for some mild language

Feedback: Need it like I need water, my running shoes, Alias and fine wine… Please read/review ~ constructive criticism is always welcome!

Author's Note1: Post-Cipher. Assume Sydney has escaped from her icy predicament in Siberia (she is the star of the show after all!). 

AN2: Chapters 4-7 all were beta-d by the most fantastic Agent Blakeney. (Thanks for your support!)

**Chapter 5 - Realizations**

**Vaughn POV**

"Robinson, any audio from Bristow? "

"Jacobs, go back to the car pulling up – I want you to freeze on the person getting out."

"Spencer, get our link to Ferdinand's security cameras back up. NOW!"

I pace in the back of the van, staring at the monitors, trying to force them to come back up. Sydney is in there alone and we are sitting here blind and deaf. 

"Sir? I have isolated the frames with the new player."

I walk over to Agent Jacobs and look over his shoulder. 

"Sir, this is the last 5 seconds of video we received before we lost our feed. Clearly there are two men exiting the car – one who looks to be a bodyguard and the other…"

"Sark," I say.

"Excuse me?" Jacobs looks up at me with questioning eyes.

Ignoring Jacobs, I take another look at the video. The only clear shot we have is of the back of a head. Blonde hair, suit – I am sure it is Sark. 

"Agent Spencer, where are we with reestablishing the feed?"

"Sir, it looks like Ferdinand's system has been taken down from the inside. I am going to try to hack back into the system and get it running, but it will take me a few minutes."

"Agent Vaughn! Agent Bristow's audio feed just came back up."

I throw my headphones on and hear, "…why don't you make me one also? I think we may be here for awhile."

**Sydney POV**

As soon as I spotted Sark, I turned on my comm link in the hopes that Vaughn would pick up the audio and hear what was happening.  

"So, General. Are you going to pour me that drink? Vodka, straight up," Sark says.

The General is just standing there, the distinctive look of fear turning his face white.

"Come now, Ferdinand. Where are your manners? Can you please introduce me to your beautiful guest?"

Let the games begin.

I turn, smile at Sark, and begin walking towards him. I need to buy some time so I can figure out what my next move is.

I look straight into his eyes and say, "Bonjour, monsieur. I am Sophie LeClair, a friend of the General. I apologize for the lack of hospitality, but I do not believe we were expecting you."

He takes my offered hand and brushes it lightly with his lips.

"Very nice to meet you, Sophie. I did not realize General Ferdinand had such fine taste in women. You quite remind me of someone that I once saw in Paris – a singer at my friend's nightclub."

We stand like that for a brief moment. Eyes locked, my hand in his – our intentions clear. The game is on, and Sydney Bristow does not lose. 

He drops my hand, and we both turn toward the General. He is attempting to mix our drinks without exposing the shaking of his hand. I wonder how Sark is going to play this -- the next move is his. He settles down in one of the armchairs, making himself more comfortable than the situation warrants.

OK – my move now. 

"General, it looks like your guest must be here for a business discussion. Why don't I take a walk and come back in a few minutes?"

General Ferdinand nods at me, and I begin walking as fast as I can toward the door.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Sophie," Sark calls from his armchair.

I don't even turn around and within seconds I am back in the main hallway. I know that Sark has something else planned for me – this was too easy. But I keep moving; hoping the sheer force of my momentum will win out.

"Tower, this is Maverick. I need you to confirm the location of the box. Sark is not getting this from us." I whisper, hoping Vaughn can still hear me.

"Maverick. What is going on?" Vaughn says. "I want you to get out of there."

"Just give me the location of the damn box and the best route out of the house. I can handle this."

A new voice comes over my comm link. "Confirmed location of the box. Office on second floor. Second door on the left. Use the back stairway to get out."

As soon as the instructions reach my ear, I am maneuvering to position myself. A quick check of the foyer reveals a disconcerting absence of guards. I know Sark is planning something, but I cannot give up on the box. I refuse to lose this game.

Within 15 seconds, I am at the door of the office. I step inside, closing the door quickly behind me.  Removing the brooch from my jacket, I place it on the combination and activate it.

"Tower, this is Maverick. I am in position and working to crack the safe."

As I register the 'pop' of the safe opening, I feel the distinctive pressure of a gun between my shoulder blades. 

A rough arm twists me around so that I am staring straight down the barrel of Sark's Beretta.

"My dear Sydney Bristow, we need to stop meeting like this."

I stare right back at Sark and say, "But why? Am I boring you? Or are you still sore from the pick-axe I lodged in your leg in Siberia?"  

"Ms. Bristow, I can assure you that you do not bore me – not in the least. However, please concede today's game to me. The box is mine."

I can see his eyes shift their focus towards the box for a split-second, and I use that moment to go for the gun. We are both grasping at it, hoping to break the other's grip. I throw a quick back-kick at Sark's gut, and as he falls backward, his grip loosens. I twist the gun out of his hands, roll to the side, and come up on one knee with the barrel pointed directly at him.

"Not so fast, Sark. I am taking what I came here for. The box is mine." I say with a slight smile. 

"What, are you going to shoot me? Our meetings are much too fun, and I would hate to miss one should I sustain an injury," Sark replies before lunging at the gun. 

I roll to the side and get back to my fighting position. Sark is a good hand-to-hand fighter, but I know I can still beat him – even in 3-inch heels. A quick roundhouse/front-kick combination sends him back to the carpet. Time to end this. I take the butt of the gun and hit Sark across the head with all the force I can muster. That should shut him up for a while.

"Tower, this is Maverick. I have the box and am heading out. I will meet you at the rendezvous point."

I open the door and take a quick look back at the unconscious Sark sprawled across the floor. 

"Thanks for playing, Sark. Until next time…" 

As I make my way to meet Vaughn and the team, I think back to Sark's comments about our meetings. As much as I would like to deny his assertion that this is 'fun,' I think he may be right. Behind all the pretense of 'national security' and  'working to take down SD-6' lies the adrenaline rush that comes from winning the game.  

What happens if I cannot leave that behind? 

The ramifications of that question are overwhelming, so I quickly store it away for later and focus on getting to the rendezvous point.

**Vaughn POV**

I take a deep breath and tell the team to get ready to meet Sydney at the rendezvous point.

I should be proud… Proud that the mission was a success; proud of how Sydney handled herself. Well, maybe 'proud' is not the right word. I should at least be happy. Sydney is safe, and we have the box. These are things I should be happy about.

But I am neither proud nor happy. Rather, I am almost choking from the frustration of sitting silent and helpless while another one of Sydney's missions went sideways. She could have been captured, or worse, killed, and all I did was sit on the sidelines and pray for the best. It is almost easier when she is half-a-world away from me, just a voice bounced off of a satellite into my ear. Today, though… Today, logistics were on my side.

I could have busted into Ferdinand's house, and helped her fend off Sark and grab the box. I should have overridden the mission plan and mobilized an emergency extraction team – this is my mission, after all, and she is my agent. I have every right to take any action necessary to ensure the mission is successful and Sydney is safe. And now I arrive at my final admission: I would have screwed protocol and run to help Sydney, if only she had really needed my help. 

Could have. Should have. Would have. 

If only she needed my help. 

"Sir? Agent Vaughn? We are all packed up and ready to meet Agent Bristow."

There will be time later to jump back into this pool of self-doubt I just created, but now it is time to get moving.

I turn to Agent Robinson and reply, "Thanks. Let's head out… By the way team, good job today."

~ End of Part 5 ~


	6. Dilemmas

Plant Your Own Garden, Decorate Your Own Soul 

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine – they are the property of Bad Robot, Touchstone, ABC, JJ et al

Rating: PG-13 for some mild language

Feedback: Need it like I need water, my running shoes, Alias and fine wine… Please read/review ~ constructive criticism is always welcome!

Author's Note1: Post-Cipher. Assume Sydney has escaped from her icy predicament in Siberia (she is the star of the show after all!). 

AN2: Chapters 4-7 all were beta-d by the most fantastic Agent Blakeney. (Thanks for your support!)

Chapter 6 – Dilemmas 

Monday, Los Angeles

**Sydney POV**

The green numbers of my alarm clock are blinking angrily.  6:23. 6:24. 6:25.  Five more minutes – I can sleep for five more minutes. I swear, this job is going to be the death of me.  Monday mornings are always the worst, but Monday mornings after a weekend of flying halfway across the world, spying, stealing, and beating up the enemy really suck. 

6:30. Time to get up and face the day.  I walk out to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. Grabbing the watering can, I open the front door to check on my plants. I arrived home so late last night that I did not have a chance to assess whether or not Francie had taken to heart her role of "garden caretaker" – a role we both knew that she would be playing often given my travel schedule.

It is a beautiful morning. There is a slight chill in the air, and the sky is turning from gray to pink to blue at the edges.  I bend down to examine my plants. They are all very much alive – tips of green are already pushing through the soil, reaching for the sun.  Francie wins the contest for being best garden caretaker ever. I never should have doubted her.

It doesn't look like they need any more water, so I put the watering can down and just spend a few minutes watching the neighborhood wake up. I can just imagine all these people with their normal lives getting ready for their days. Someday, I could have this life.  Waking up early to have a few moments alone with my loving husband. Exiting the warmth of our bed only to make sure the kids are up and getting ready for school. Sharing smiles and plans for the day at the breakfast table. Finally taking time to get myself ready for the day ahead – a day to be spent at a normal job where the acrid smells of death and destruction are nowhere to be found.   

The problem with this fantasy, if I am truly honest with myself, is that it has a high probability of boring me to death. I have lived in this reality for so long, that I am not sure that I will ever be able to live a different life. I think back to the question that has haunted me since I left Santiago: What happens if I cannot leave the game behind? I spent the entire flight home obsessing over this riddle, and close to 24 hours later, I still don't have a good answer. It is enough to put me firmly back on the bitter bus. Mondays really do suck.

**Vaughn POV**

I quickly glance at my watch – 12:03. I think I chose the slowest elevator in the building – I hate being late.  The doors open and I rush into the corridor. Two minutes later, I am at my destination.

I open the door and kick off our ritual greeting, "There won't be any money for you, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness."

Eric looks at me from the hospital bed and finishes off the greeting, "So, I got that goin' for me, which is nice."

I can feel myself grinning. I miss having Eric around the office. No one else can trade movie quotes with me like he can.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. I was stuck in a briefing with Devlin."  I pull up a chair to Eric's bed and start pulling out the lunch I had brought for him. "How are you feeling, by the way?"

"I'm okay – just sick of sitting here on my ass. Ohhhh – is this a meatball hoagie? You're the best, Mike. So, talk to me about what's been going on at work while I stuff my face." 

"Well," I begin. "Work… work is work. Kendall is still a prick. Jack is slightly warmer than the polar ice cap, and Derevko is still playing us for all we are worth. Nothing new really."

Between bites of his sandwich, Eric gives me a questioning look. "And what about Sydney?"

"Sydney is fine. The past couple of weeks have been tough for her, but I think she is handling it." Attempting to shift the subject matter away from work and Sydney, I add, "So, when are they going to let you out of here?"

"Next week. Only four more days to make my move on Julie, the night nurse."

I barely hear Eric's response – my mind is still stuck on Sydney. I have spent the 24 hours since our mission in Santiago working to forget the mission in Santiago. But no matter how hard I try to forget, I cannot.

Could have. Should have. Would have. 

If only she needed my help.

"Mike. Buddy. Earth to Mike." I must have been staring into space because Eric is looking at my intently, amusement dancing in his eyes. "So, everything with Sydney is fine, eh?"

I look at him and answer, "Let's just say the mission in Santiago this weekend was tougher than I anticipated…"  

How do I even begin to explain this without Eric tearing me a new one? 

"…Intellectually, I know my role as a handler is to keep my agent safe and ensure the success of the mission. In Santiago, things got a little rough, and for some reason, I didn't really feel like I fulfilled either of those roles. I mean, Sydney got out safely and the mission was a success, but I just feel like...like I could have not been there and it would have turned out exactly the same way.  Anyway, don't listen to me – this is not making any sense."

I look at Eric and realize he is staring intently at the wall. This is not good. I brace myself for his lecture on 'attachment' and 'protocol'. 

"Mike." Eric's voice finally punctuates the heavy silence between us. "I realize that I should be giving you my standard speech on protocol and attachment, but I don't think you need to hear that again. However, I do think you need to figure out how to make yourself happy with the role you play in Sydney's life. You are not only her official CIA handler, you are her friend, and in those roles, you have to figure out where to draw your line."

"My line?" I question.

"Yes, your line. How far are you willing to go as her friend and as her handler before you go completely fucking insane? Look at you, Mike – you are killing yourself over one simple mission that was successful! You cannot be her knight in shining armor every day on every mission. Define your role, your line, your limit… or I'm going to have to knock you over the head with my yo-yo. And neither of us want that, do we?" 

Smiling, I look at Eric and reply, "You are crazy, you know that? Threatening me with a yo-yo whipping?"

Eric and I are both laughing now, the tension from the Sydney conversation dissipating into the air. We spend the next 30 minutes catching up on the finer aspects of life: Eric's assessment of the nursing staff; my take on the Kings season so far; and, most importantly, our plan to get wasted when Eric gets out of the hospital. 

Looking at my watch, I realize it is already 1pm. Time to get back to work. I stand up and collect the evidence of our illegal lunch. As I open the door to leave, I turn back to Eric and say, "Thanks for the advice, by the way. I hope to successfully avoid getting beaten up by your yo-yo."

"No problem, Mike. That is what your pain-in-the-ass friends are for… One last thing -next time you visit, bring me a cup of hot fat. And the head of Alfredo Garcia."

**Sydney POV**

Is it possible for a day to go from somewhat crappy to downright shitty in less than 8 hours? Well, it is no longer a rhetorical question, because after a morning of meetings at SD-6 and a quick visit to campus, my day is completely in the toilet. 

Lets see, it is 2:00pm, and what has my day consisted off? It started with lying to Dixon about my weekend, something that always gets under my skin. Then as a follow-up, Sloane informed me that I leave tomorrow for another mission. Finally, my professor denied my request for an extension on a paper under the pretense that he has already given me more extensions than any one grad student in the history of USC.  

Three strikes and you're out, Sydney Bristow.

I know that there is only one thing that will catapult me out of the mood I have been in since Santiago. I just have to embrace my anger and bitterness to flush it out of my system. That is how I arrived at the gym. I figure a few rounds with my best friend, Bob the Bag, will set me straight.

John, the trainer, has taped my hands and is ready to go, but I have to do one thing first.

"Hey, John?" I ask. "Can I throw on my CD? I need some music today."

He nods and I insert my CD into the stereo. Walking back over to John, I smile to let him know that I am ready to go.

"OK, Sydney. Lets start out slowly: Left-hand jab, right-hand cross and another left-hand jab. 1-2-3."

I begin to work the bag. I can hear John telling me to move my feet, to keep my blocking hand up.

~~~~~~~~~

_Welcome to the jungle_

_We take it day by day_

_If you want it you're gonna bleed_

_But it's the price you pay_

~~~~~~~~~

As the first song ends, John instructs me to start working my kicks. "Back leg roundhouse, front kick, roundhouse again – one to the body, another to the head."

~~~~~~~~~__

_Everything you say to me_

_Takes me one step closer to the edge_

_And I'm about to break_

_I need a little room to breathe_

_'Cause I am one step closer to the edge_

_And I'm about to break_

~~~~~~~~~__

I am in my zone. My kicks are tight and connecting with force. Soon my mind begins to wander over all the subjects that have put me in this state: the weariness that comes from living two lives, the exhaustion from my back-to-back missions, and my general hatred of my current life.

~~~~~~~~~__

_Shut up when I'm talking to you_

_Shut up _

_Shut up_

_Shut up when I'm talking to you_

~~~~~~~~~__

Other than my garden, I have not done one thing for myself in… in forever. True, work - taking down SD-6 - is for me. Or at least it used to be for me…and for Danny. Now, I am just part of a larger game controlled by men in suits like Kendall, and I am not sure that I am not completely being used.

~~~~~~~~~__

_Killing in the name of!_

_And now you do what they told ya _

_And now you do what they told ya, now you're under control_

_And now you do what they told ya!_

_Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me_

~~~~~~~~~__

We have moved onto kick/punch combinations. John keeps yelling at me, "Connect, Bristow. Own your skills. Work the bag."

I am pushing myself to the point of total collapse. Sweat is pouring down my back and my arms and legs are bruised. But now I am on Sark. Bob the Bag now has blonde hair and an over-inflated ego. Screw Sark and his insinuations about my "enjoyment" of our meetings.

~~~~~~~~~__

_Run just as fast as I can _

_To the middle of nowhere _

_To the middle of my frustrated fears _

_And I swear you're just like a pill _

_Instead of makin' me better, you keep makin' me ill _

~~~~~~~~~__

I just want to lead a normal life. Be it a boring life or an exciting one, I yearn for normalcy. However, I need to accept the fact that the only path to a potential normal future lies with the double-life I live today.  I need to make this reality work for me or I am going to fall over the edge. 

"Bristow, your cell phone is ringing," John yells at me.

I walk over to my bag to find that it is my CIA phone that is ringing.

"Bristow," I answer, still breathing hard from my workout. 

"Warehouse, 7pm," Vaughn says and then hangs up.

Attempting to maintain the illusion of an actual phone call, I respond to the dead line, "Sure, Francie, I can pick up dinner on my way home. See you later tonight."  

Picking up a towel, I lay down on the mat and begin to stretch. I know that I still have a lot of unresolved issues swirling inside of my head, but kicking the crap out of Bob sure helped. Now, I just need to figure out what Vaughn could want with me. I have not yet informed him about my latest SD-6 mission, so he would not be looking to give me my counter-mission. Regardless, I am looking forward to 7pm. Meeting with Vaughn could be the first good thing to happen today.

**Vaughn's POV**

I just hung up with Sydney. I wonder why she was breathing so hard – it is only 3pm. She doesn't usually go for a run until later in the evening. 

I have spent the last couple of hours thinking about what Weiss said. I am still not sure how to set a limit or designate a line with Sydney. Our relationship has always been so open, that I fear setting up boundaries will force us into the uncomfortable role of being simply a CIA agent and her handler.  I think back to her confession about her garden on the plane to Santiago. She trusts me enough to tell me about these things – what if I push her away? But then I recall her blatant disregard for my order to get out of Ferdinand's house. She overrode my decision and went to get the box anyway, putting herself and the mission in jeopardy. Ostensibly, this is the reason for our meeting – an agent and her handler need to debrief from their latest mission.  In reality… who knows where the discussion will go? All I am sure about is that I have four hours to figure out what the hell Sydney Bristow is to me, and what I want to be to her.

~ End of Part Six ~

**AN:**

Movie Quotes:

Vaughn's and Weiss' greeting is from Caddyshack. The final line in that section (Weiss' line) is from Fletch.

Sydney's Songs:

Welcome to the Jungle, Guns 'n Roses

One Step Closer, Linkin' Park

Killing In The Name, Rage Against the Machine

Just Like A Pill, Pink

  



	7. A Delicate Balance

Plant Your Own Garden, Decorate Your Own Soul 

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine – they are the property of Bad Robot, Touchstone, ABC, JJ et al

Rating: PG-13 for some mild language

Feedback: Need it like I need water, my running shoes, Alias and fine wine… Please read/review ~ constructive criticism is always welcome!

Author's Note1: Post-Cipher. Assume Sydney has escaped from her icy predicament in Siberia (she is the star of the show after all!). 

AN2: Chapters 4-7 all were beta-d by the most fantastic Agent Blakeney. (Thanks for your support!)

Chapter Seven: A Delicate Balance 

**Vaughn POV**

I can't believe I chose the warehouse for this meeting. It is always so dark and foreboding here. Usually, these qualities make it ideal for covert meetings, but today it only serves to amplify the depression that has enveloped me during the past four hours.  An afternoon spent evaluating feelings for his agent does not make a handler a happy man.  After four hours, I reached one critical conclusion: this situation stinks.

Looking down at my watch, I realize it is already 7:00. Sydney should be arriving shortly.  Time to review, again, my conclusion from this afternoon: this situation stinks.  No, scratch that - it is seriously fucked-up.  I keep thinking back to Weiss' comments from earlier today, "How far are you willing to go as her friend and as her handler before you go completely fucking insane?"

How far am I willing to go? This question has been nagging at me all afternoon, because whether or not I could ever admit it to Eric, I know that I would go as far as necessary for Sydney, without question.  The issue that weighs so heavily in my gut is not my willingness to do anything for Sydney, rather, it is whether she needs me to do anything at all.

The sound of footsteps jars me from my thoughts. I was hoping to think up a plan for this conversation, but it looks like I am going to just have to wing it. Sydney comes into view, and even in the low light of the warehouse, her beauty is undeniable.

"Hi," her voice punctuates the silence. She sits down on the table across from me, and I am momentarily distracted by her outfit. Usually Syd is dressed in a suit for our meetings, but tonight she looks like she is ready for a night out.  

"You look nice tonight, Syd. Hope I am not keeping you from anything." The words escape my lips before I have a chance to hold them back.  

She smiles shyly at me and says, "Thanks, and no, the only thing you are keeping me from is a bottle of Syrah and a paper on Jane Austen's feminist sensibility." 

"Sounds like a fun evening," I reply, thankful that she is not on her way out on a date

"Yeah, really fun," she says with a laugh. "Anyway, why did you call me?" 

Why did I call her? Where to even begin? This conversation is going to go nowhere fast unless I focus. Start with Santiago, we need to talk about Santiago. 

I force my expression into one of a CIA handler, formal and impassionate. "Syd, we need to talk about what happened in Santiago."

I notice a flicker of fear cross her face as I say these words. She quickly recovers and says, "OK. What do we need to talk about?"

My instincts are piqued by her reaction. Fear is not something that I normally associate with Sydney, and I certainly do not know what she could be afraid of in terms of Santiago. However, it is not the time to press the issue, so I just continue down the path I was on. 

"First of all, I want to congratulate you on a successful mission," I smile at her and she returns it. "However, I would like to understand why you did not listen to me when I told you to get out of Ferdinand's house."

Sydney is obviously startled by my words, because she sits up straight and wraps her arms around her chest tightly. "What do you mean?" she asks in a cold, flat tone.

I reply with a touch of sarcasm coloring my words. "Let me refresh your memory. You were out of the room with Sark and Ferdinand when you called in asking for the location of the box. That is when I told you to get out of the house."  

She shakes her head and begins to pace. "But you weren't really serious," she says in disbelief. "We had to get the Rambaldi box. I had to complete the mission." 

"What? How can you possibly think I was not serious?" I say incredulously. "I was calling the shots. You and I both know what that means – you listen and execute on my orders."

These words prompt Sydney to stop dead in her tracks. I can tell she wants to lash back at me, but instead she just shrugs her shoulders and says flippantly, "Vaughn, what's the big deal? No harm, no foul, right?"

"No harm, no foul," I reply tensely. "That's your explanation, Agent Bristow?" 

She moves close to me, staring me straight in the eyes. "Yes, Agent Vaughn, it is. I successfully completed the mission, which, may I remind you, makes you look good. No harm, no foul. Now, why did you really call me here tonight?"

I can't fucking believe this. I step away from Sydney, trying to calm down and create some space between us. I need to figure out a way to ratchet down the tension and get the conversation back on track. "Here's the thing, Sydney," I say softly. "I know we deliberately blur the lines of protocol when needed, but two days ago in Santiago, the consequence of not following the rules could have gotten you killed."

Something in my words hits home, because Sydney sits down quietly on the table and sighs deeply.  

"Vaughn," she begins. "You don't understand. I had to complete the mission, there was no other option."  She jumps off the table again and continues to pace. "I don't lose.  If I lose, we move a step away from taking down SD-6 and that is unacceptable."

"Well, Syd, I guess you have it all figured out," I say bitterly. "Sydney Bristow takes on the world alone – screw those around her who are trying to do the exact same fucking thing."

"That is not what I said," she hisses back fiercely. "Of course I need the help of whatever team is supporting me on the op, but that does not mean I am going to let that team hold me back."

This last comment is like a slap across the face. "So, I was holding you back?"

I can see the tears pooling in her eyes, but I am not going to give in. I know I am acting completely irrationally at this point, but those words cut to the core of my insecurity.  She really did not need me at all.

"With all the support I have given you, all the rules I have broken, that is what you think? Taking down SD-6 is the sole responsibility of Sydney Bristow, and should anyone get in the way, screw 'em, 'cuz they are holding you back?"

"That is not what I meant," she says, standing up to go. 

"Sydney, we are not done here," I say sternly.

She turns to face me and replies, "I know, Vaughn, but I don't have the energy to argue anymore tonight. Point taken, I should have listened to you in Santiago. Now I am going to go home and drink my bottle of wine."

She begins to leave, but stops and turns back again. "By the way, I dropped the details of my latest SD-6 mission this afternoon. Should I expect you to contact me with the counter-mission?"

"Yes, of course," I reply automatically. "I will be in touch tomorrow morning."

Her footsteps grow fainter, and then she is gone, leaving me feeling worse than I ever thought possible.

**Sydney POV**

What the hell just happened?  After an hour driving around LA on my way back home from the warehouse, I still don't understand what happened between Vaughn and me.  My cheeks are wet from tears, but I am not quite sure why I am crying. I really should be the one who is pissed. I can't believe that Vaughn accused me of disobeying an order and then basically of being a selfish bitch. I did not mean what I said – the words just came out before I even had a chance to stop them.  I know they were hurtful, but Vaughn really overreacted.

Stalking back to my room to change, I realize that the reason I am crying is that our meeting ended up 180 degrees away from my expectations.  I was excited to see Vaughn tonight. I even decided to change into something special – I know it is silly, but I just wanted to look pretty for him. We have not had a chance to talk since the flight to Santiago, and I wanted to explain more about Emily's gift and the garden. Maybe he would even tell me that I am amazing again - fat chance of that happening again after tonight. 

I strip out of my carefully constructed outfit and into something more practical for a night of drinking and sulking.  There is no way I am going to be able to write my paper tonight, so I think I will just get drunk and hope to forget this night ever happened.

It is a beautiful night out, so I decide to take my bottle of wine and sit outside by my plants. I sip my wine and think about the delicate balance of life.  It amazes me to see how the seeds I planted last week are already beginning to show signs of life.  The needs of my garden seem so simple: carbon dioxide, light, and water. What is truly astounding is how complex of a balance it actually is. Throw one of these elements off and the plant may die, but keep them in balance and it will thrive.

"Hmmm… less philosophy, more wine," I think to myself.  

The wine is warming my body and I can feel the effects of the alcohol on my mind. I begin to relax and my thoughts return to this evening's disastrous meeting with Vaughn. I am sure that if I think through our conversation logically, I can figure out how it ended up being such a nightmare. 

Unfortunately, every time I think about our meeting, all I hear is the hurt in Vaughn's voice. What prompted me to say that anyway? What made me insinuate that the people around me might hold me back?  And why would I say this to Vaughn of all people? He has stood by my side for the past year, supporting my decisions, being my confidante and basically keeping me sane.

The answer is right there, filling my gut along with the wine – fear. I am afraid he will see the truth. That he will see how vulnerable that mission made me feel. That he will see how I have begun to question everything I stand for. I am afraid that this life is sucking me in, and perhaps Vaughn will realize that I am not as amazing as he thought.  

Now, I am not only drunk and philosophical, but also depressed – a winning combination. 

I let my eyes rove over my garden once again. Even though it is just a few plants in containers and not a real garden, I am proud of it.  It is nice to be able to take care of something, to be responsible for maintaining the delicate balance that yields life and continued growth. 

It strikes me that this is the role Vaughn plays in my life. I look to him to support me and keep me sane and alive given this crazy life I lead.  If I were to lose him, I don't think I could go on. But isn't that what happened tonight? I managed to push away the one person who I need most in my life, all because I am scared.

Reminding myself of my pledge to figure this out logically, I decide that I have two options.

Option one is to let fear win out and do nothing. Just revert back to dealing with Vaughn in the protocol-driven manner of an Agent and her Handler.  In some ways, this is the safe option. No one gets hurt, walls stay up, and I am able to detach from my feelings for him. 

Option two is to ignore my fear and let my heart take over. I can tell Vaughn how I feel, how much I need him in my life. It might screw with protocol a bit, but I think we left those rules behind us long ago.

It seems to me, if logic can conquer the alcohol-fueled cloudiness in my mind, that by going with the first option, I am just perpetuating the issues that led to our fight this evening.  However, option two is actually the scarier one. It is not easy for me to expose my heart. But then again, if I don't, the delicate balance I have maintained in my life will be thrown out the door and I could end up as the manifestation of all my fears – alone, corrupt, and addicted to the spy game.

I look down and realize that I managed to polish off the entire bottle of wine. I think that is a good sign for me to go to sleep. I can figure out what I am going to say to Vaughn tomorrow morning.

**Vaughn POV**

A little more than 12 hours after our first meeting, I am back at the warehouse to meet Sydney and give her the counter-mission for her latest SD-6 trip. After a night of tossing and turning, evaluating her words over and over in mind, I am fairly sure that she didn't mean what she said.  Even a day after, the words still make me wince when I think about them; however, time has put them in perspective, and all I really want now is an explanation.

The clicking of heels against concrete indicates that Sydney has arrived. She comes into view, dressed in a suit for work. In her hand is a medium-sized shopping bag, which strikes me as odd, but I quickly forget about it as she comes closer.  She puts the bag down and leans against the chain-link fence that encloses our little meeting spot.  The silence is oppressive – one of us has to kick this off, so I decide to begin.

"Syd-," I say, just as I hear start with, "Vaughn."

She raises her eyes from the ground to look at me and indicates that I should go ahead.

"Syd," I begin again, "we need to talk about last night." She nods her head in agreement, still avoiding my gaze. 

"First of all, I apologize for losing control. I shouldn't have yelled at you, but I need to be honest with you Syd… your words really stung."

I can see her grimace as she presses her hands to her temples. She quickly moves away from her place along the fence and begins to pace. "I know," she says softly. "God, Vaughn, I am so sorry. I was so wrong last night." 

She takes a deep breath and pulls up a chair so she can sit facing me. I feel her hands grasp mine as she says, "Vaughn...Michael… I am going to tell you a few things and I just need you to listen."

The sensation of her closeness is overwhelming. Her hands are holding mine tightly and our knees are touching.  She has a determined expression on her face, but I can feel her trembling slightly, like she is afraid of what might come out of her mouth. 

The sound of her voice pulls me back to her. "Michael, remember how I told you about my garden on the flight to Santiago?"

I nod my head, afraid that any sound might interrupt her thoughts. 

"Well, I realized last night how deceptively hard it is to cultivate life…how a delicate balance is required to ensure my garden grows and prospers. If anything throws off this balance, the garden could easily turn to dust. It is my job as a gardener, to make sure that this balance is maintained."  She looks at me again with those enormous eyes and continues, "I'm sorry. I know this sounds convoluted, but just bear with me"

I finally find my voice and reply encouragingly, "That's alright, Syd, I'm listening."

She sighs and looks up at the ceiling, obviously struggling with the next part of her story. When she looks back at me, I realize that her eyes are glistening with unshed tears.  She gives me a faint smile, squeezes my hands and continues her story.  "There are days when I feel like the balance between life and death, sanity and insanity in my life is so precarious that I could easily fall into the abyss at any moment."

Another pause as Syd bites her lip and looks up at that magical spot on the ceiling.  I squeeze her hands again and nod encouragingly, hoping she will continue. 

"You of all people in my life know what I go through on a daily basis. You understand how hard this life is. How I have to balance the harsh realities of being a double agent while also maintaining this persona of Sydney Bristow for my friends and for myself.  All of this takes a toll on me – on my spirit, and you are the only person keeping me from going completely insane… Do you know how scary that is for me, Vaughn?"

I look at her and a number of replies freeze in my throat.  I am not sure how to answer that question or if I should even try.  She lets go of my hands and stands up, moving back to her post against the fence.

"Do you know how scary it is for me to care this much for you? I actually have a mantra - a mantra, Vaughn - that I repeat trying to convince myself not to care for you, because I am so fucking afraid that you will end up like Danny. That the image from my nightmares of you, dead in a bathtub, will become a reality."

"Syd-," I begin to say. 

"No, hold on," she says in a controlled voice. "Let me finish this. I was very wrong last night. To take down SD-6, I absolutely need your help. But more importantly, to be Sydney Bristow, I need your love."

Her words floor me. I look at her standing across the small room from me and I can see the contrasting emotions of vulnerability and determination playing across her face. I can only imagine how much it took for her to say these words to me. I quickly stand up and cross the room to her, completely sure of what I need to say. Four long strides later and I am standing directly in front of her. I grab her hands like she had mine and say firmly, "Now, my turn."  

"Sydney," I say quietly, her hands still wrapped in mine. "I love you more than you could ever imagine. I need you to know this. As your CIA handler, I will always do what I need to do to keep you safe. As for Sydney Bristow, I promise to love her and support her unconditionally."

I pull Sydney close to me, tears streaming down both of our faces. I hear her voice murmur softly from my shoulder, "So, where do we go from here?"

"I really have no idea, Sydney. Unfortunately, there is not a class at Langley on this." I hear her giggle softly. "I think we just continue to follow our hearts and hopefully one day, we can move past all of this craziness and have a normal life together. Until then, just know that I love you."

She releases herself from my arms and smiles. "Thank you Michael, for everything."

Smiling broadly, I walk back to my briefcase. I pull out a folder and say, "I know its not the most romantic gift given the circumstances, but I need to keep you safe."

"My counter-mission?" Sydney asks, taking the folder from my hands. 

"Yeah. It is pretty simple so no need to review it here."

"Are you going to be on comms?"

"Of course," I say. "You can't escape me that easily." Glancing at my watch, I realize she is late for her flight. "You should go," I tell her.

Her smile gets bigger as she moves and kisses me lightly on the cheek. "My guardian angel," she whispers softly in my ear and turns to leave the warehouse.

"Good luck in Korea, Sydney," I call after her. I sit back down on my chair and close my eyes, listening to the sounds of her heels grow fainter until they disappear entirely. I take a deep breath and shake my head. What a couple of days… I wonder what I am going to tell Eric when he asks about how my 'drawing the line' conversation went. 

I glance back at my watch and realize that I need to get back to the office also. As I stand up to leave, I notice that the bag Syd had brought with her is still on the floor.  I pick it up and see that there is a note taped to the side with my name on it.  I sit back down to open the bag, wondering what Sydney could have left for me.  My eyes get big as I grasp the significance of the bag's contents. Inside is a small pot, and even in the dim light of the warehouse, I can see the vivid green of new shoots pushing through the dark soil. I rip open the note and read:

_Michael,_

_I thought I would give you one of my plants to take care of in hopes that it would remind you of me, and the role you play in my life. I need your support, love, and protection just like this plant needs light, water and carbon dioxide.  Take care of my baby, Vaughn, just like you take care of me._

_All my love,_

_Sydney_

I sigh deeply as the full meaning of the day's events sink in. In many ways my relationship with Sydney just became a hundred times easier, but in many ways it is now that much more complicated. I think back to what I told Sydney – I really don't know where we go from here, but I am sure we will figure it out together.

~The End~


End file.
